


Playlist

by MinervaFan



Series: The Sisters Spellman [3]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Cain pit, F/F, F/M, Familial duties, Not Quite Spellcest, Orgies attended and avoided, Recreational Drug Use (mentioned), Sowing Wild Oats, Unshielded empathy, alcohol use, complicated love, cross-dressing, mildly cruel flirtation, war time violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 09:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaFan/pseuds/MinervaFan
Summary: "A playlist is a collection of songs that have special meaning in our friendship," Sabrina said. "You should make one for Auntie Zee. After all, she's your best friend, isn't she?"





	Playlist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrenchTwistResistance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchTwistResistance/gifts).

> Written for the Together-As-Sisters July Challenge. We were meant to write in another writer's universe, but I could not insert myself into the perfection of FrenchTwistResistance's stories. So I decided to pay homage to the epic nature of her fics and write a sweeping history of Hilda and Zelda's complicated relationship. 
> 
> This is not a songfic per se, although I have chosen a series of songs starting from 1906, approximately twenty years apart, until 1970. I've included links to the songs so they can be listened to while reading. You can get the Spotify playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06cnShphQJx3mszq7hxas5?si=HOUszhGKRI6M8CHAJnJCLA.

“So what has got you so engrossed, my darling love?” Hilda was shelling peas, a task she always rather loved. It was mindless, repetitive, simple. If she did it right, she could calm her thoughts and feel time itself slowing to a lovely stasis around her. She could capture this moment of perfect beauty--sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows, the smell of bread baking, the sound of birdsong and windchimes, and her darling niece lovely and perfect across the table. “You haven’t looked up from that phone in half an hour, at least.”

“Sorry, Auntie,” Sabrina said. She set the phone down and pulled a few peas from the bowl, making at least a show of helping. It was a lovely if unnecessary gesture, as they both knew full well Sabrina had very few domestic tendencies. “It’s Ros’s birthday next week, and I’m creating a playlist for her.”

“A what, dear?”

“It’s a collection of songs that have special meaning in our friendship.” She dropped the pea, most definitely unshelled, back into the bowl and picked up her phone again. A few swipes of her fingers, and she handed the device to Hilda. “See? Each song will remind her of a moment in our friendship that was significant. Good, bad, funny. You know, sort of a musical photo album.”

Hilda stared at the list of songs. She literally recognized not one single name on the list, but it seemed _ such _ a wonderful sentiment. “That is a lovely idea, dear.” She handed the phone back to her niece and resumed her shelling.

“You should make one for Aunt Zelda,” Sabrina suggested brightly. “I mean, she’s your best friend, isn’t she? I’m sure there are lots of songs that remind you of good times.

“Oh, dear, I suppose there are.” Hilda smiled to herself. Somewhere in this mortuary, there were boxes of records she’d collected over the years. 

**  
** [ Henry Burr - Love Me And The World Is Mine (1906) ](https://dev.invidio.us/watch?v=qpO8sQK_vr0)  


New Orleans was hot and humid, even in December.

Had she been alone, Miss Hilda Spellman would have shed more than the tailored jacket of her gown. Her skirt fell in soft folds that curved in, then flared out near the hemline. Her own figure was ample enough to forego a corset...or so she’d been told in no unappreciative terms. 

Alas, she was not alone. She was in this hotel with her sister, who would have none of Hilda’s rebellious antics. 

“Our ship boards at dawn, Sister,” Zelda said from behind her newspaper. Miss Spellman the Senior was known in polite circles as erudite, accomplished, and not to be trifled with. “For the love of Satan, please turn off that dreadful mortal contraption and allow us some peace.”

“It’s a gramophone, Zelda, and it’s not dreadful. Mr. Henry Burr is one of the finest singers in America, and I _ like _ this song.”

“I suppose you learned all about such things from that minstrel you took up with.”

“Andrew is a legitimate actor, and quite successful I might add. And you have no right…”

“I have every right, Sister, to protect our family from your foolishness. Cavorting with mortals, honestly. And an actor! Who, I may add is not fooling anyone.”

Hilda’s face flushed slightly at her sister’s knowing expression. Zelda could be cruel, so very cruel, and she felt a wave of protective energy welling in her belly. “Andrew...”

“Don’t you mean ‘Amelia’?” Zelda countered. If Andrew’s physical...complexities bothered her, Zelda did not allow it to supersede her primary disgust at his being mortal. “Honestly, does she really fool anyone with that short hair and clothing?”

“_ He _ is perfectly fine, and you’re only angry because Mother sent you to retrieve me at the height of the season, instead of allowing you to stay in London and flirt with every available warlock in sight.” Hilda stood and crossed purposefully to the gramophone. The record had finished and the needle was scratching rhythmically. She lifted it and set it back, stubbornly, in the initial groove. The song began to play again, prompting a frustrated sniff from Zelda, who raised her paper once more to read.

Hilda felt an immature but satisfying pleasure at her sister’s annoyance. She was no child to be herded and scolded and brought back home in disgrace. Again.

She cast an appraising gaze at her older sister. Zelda Phiona Spellman exemplified the modern Edwardian witch--from her soft auburn waves, swept into a modernized version of Mr. Gibson’s famous style, to the fashionably-cut frock to the smart alligator pumps she wore. Even in this heat, she never perspired. Hilda frowned. Zelda barely blinked, much less felt or frowned or cared. “And what if I say I’m not going?” she said, at that moment every much the child she was accused of being.

“That is not up for debate, Hildegard.” 

Hilda dropped onto the settee next to her sister, letting out a huge breath of frustrated air. “It’s not fair.”

“Life is not fair, Sister.” Zelda sighed, folding her paper and turning to take her sister’s hands in her own. “Honestly, Hilda, I’d thought you would have learned with the last one. What was her name? Charlotte?”

“_ Charles _…”

“Another mortal, another actor, another….complex individual.” Zelda’s tone was surprisingly gentle. “How long did that last, dear? Ten years? Fifteen? How long before..._ Charles _ noticed the two of you weren’t aging at the same rate?”

Hilda lowered her head, not wanting to remember. “He...he was good to me.”

“It took you almost five years after Aunt Evanora brought you home to recover.” She squeezed Hilda’s hands. “You barely smiled for a decade,” she added wistfully. “Why must you hurt yourself? If you wish to..._ explore _...your interests, there are many perfectly fine witches who would be--”

Hilda pulled her hands away sharply, standing so quickly that Zelda wobbled slightly on the settee. “We have an early morning. I’m going to sleep.”

They did not speak of Andrew or Charles again. And when their ship sailed at dawn, Hilda found herself as far away from her sister’s protective gaze as possible for the entire voyage.

**  
** [ Bessie Smith - After You've Gone (1927) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E2irOWuCouw)  


The smoke was thick and the alcohol was flowing. Zelda’s bobbed hair glistened in the lights as she danced with one after another slick-haired dandy. Hilda didn’t mind, though. The fringe on her ruby-colored dress shimmered and shimmied along with her as she moved from one partner to another, every inch accentuating her slim figure and pale skin. 

Evelyn pushed another glass of champagne towards Hilda, his hands shaky and hot. One look in his eyes told Hilda everything she needed to know, with or without the tell-tale redness at his nostrils. He’d obviously been...playing in the snow...between dances. 

“Dance with me, woman, and celebrate the decided lack of Prohibition here in England.” His arms snaked around her waist, the lovable fop she never knew was missing from her life all these years. Hilda downed the drink and followed him to the dance floor where Bessie Smith’s bluesy contralto had been replaced with a rollicking version of the Charleston. 

“What the Americans lacked in common sense, as far as spirits,” Evelyn said as he snatched another glass from a passing server and downed it in one gulp, “they make up for in music.” They moved in wild gestures, laughing and sweating and barely avoiding the other bodies in the throng of dancers. She wasn’t thrilled with his cocaine use, but at least he was a good dancer without being handsy like the other members of their coven.

The music changed just as she lost track of her partner, slowing to a gentle ballad called Thinking of You. Hilda felt a hand on hers and whirled just in time to be pulled into Zelda’s waiting arms. Her sister’s eyes were shining a little too brightly, and she spun her baby sister gaily as they danced across the floor.

“Zelds, I think you might be _ just _ a bit tipsy.”

The laugh was pure gin and sex as Zelda hugged her tightly. “Don’t be absurd, Hildie. I’m toasted.” She danced Hilda through the crowd, easing her onto a quiet balcony where they could talk. “Your fop disappeared.”

“As did your flapper boys, Sister.”

“Satan’s hooves, I need a smoke.” Zelda reached into her tiny clutch and pulled out a cigarette holder and matches. Her scarlet lipstick stained the paper as she drew in a long drag. “Want some?” When Hilda declined, she took another deep draw of nicotine. “Whew, it’s hot in there!”

Hilda took in the barely-there dress that clung to Zelda's lithe frame, arms, legs, shoulders exposed… "Definitely..."

Zelda leaned in and hugged her sister. "I'm so glad you came," she murmured into Hilda's curls. Her skin smelled of roses and tobacco and it was everything for Hilda not to breathe her in whole. "The...festivities will be starting soon," Zelda whispered. "I understand if you want to make a discreet exit..." Hilda gasped softly as Zelda's teeth grazed her earlobe. "Though I wish you wouldn't." Zelda laughed deep in her throat as Hilda pulled away quickly. "Not to your taste, Sister? I'm certain I can scrounge up a few cross-dressers if that's your pleasure."

Hilda rolled her eyes. It was the champagne, of course, causing the butterfly tickle in the belly. Champagne and too long under the watchful eyes of her family. Just like Zelda to use her familial incarceration as a bludgeon. "I'll pass," she said sharply, turning back to the party where things were already heating up. "Just gonna grab my wrap..."

A firm hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. She felt the heat of Zelda's breath against her neck as she whispered, "People are beginning to talk, Hildegard. They are suggesting you have an...unnatural affinity for mortal lovers. That you reject the pleasures of your own coven for these...pathetic dalliances of yours."

Hilda shrugged off the hand but stopped again. Zelda was no longer whispering.

“I can make sure none of the warlocks touch you, Sister, if that is the problem.” Zelda’s tone held no mockery. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” 

Hilda turned to see a look of genuine concern on her sister’s unbearably beautiful face. “It’s not...I…” She shook her head. “I have to go.”

They did not speak again for over ten years.

** [ Vera Lynn - A Nightengale Sang in Berkeley Square (1941) ](https://playback.fm/charts/top-100-songs/video/1941/Vera-Lynn-A-Nightingale-Sang-in-Berkeley-Square) **

The flat had too many windows. Hilda could charm them, of course, against sound and light. She preferred to pull the shades. She collapsed into a chair, exhausted, as Zelda puttered around in her tiny kitchen.

“Who lives like this, Hildegard?”

“_ I _ live like this, Zelda,” she muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. Habit kept her voice low, even though it wasn’t necessary. Any charms she’d placed to soundproof the flat against the blackout, Zelda had intensified. In fact, she’d put a record on to fill the silence and “ease the depression in this horrid place.”

“You barely have any food in the cupboard, and your liquor cabinet is non-existent.”

“I’m sure there’s room for you at The Ritz, Zelds, if squatting with me is not to your standards.” She kicked off her Oxfords, rubbing the soles of her feet to unknot them. 

Zelda stepped in from the kitchen carrying a tea kettle and two cups. “At least you have decent tea. And I’m not squatting. I’m trying to talk sense into you.”

Zelda’s appearance couldn’t have been farther from her sister’s if she’d tried. From the perfect chignon to the fox-fur collar down to her sleekly cut ankle strap shoes, Zelda Spellman was every inch high society, whereas Hilda looked positively pedestrian in her WVS uniform. 

“Not that again…”

“I have no comprehension why you feel the need to involve yourself in these mortal concerns, Hildegard. Aunt Evanora has a lovely estate in the country, if you simply _ must _ stay in England.” She poured a cup of tea for herself, then one for Hilda. “You’ve always been very fond of Ambrose. And there are plenty of farm animals for you and your little friends...” She eyed the case where Hilda’s familiars scampered happily. “To frolick with. _ Or… _”

“Or I could go back to America with you.”

“The Spellman family presence in Greendale goes back centuries. Edward has opened up the mortuary again, and you’ll have a garden, and…”

Hilda took the tea, breathing in its warmth before taking a long swallow. “I don’t like Greendale,” she said plainly.

“Nonsense. You love Greendale.”

“Don’t tell me what I like or don’t like, Zelda. I am a grown witch, and I can make my own decisions.”

“Honestly, Sister, you’ve made nothing but irresponsible decisions since you left the Academy. When we're in Europe, you scramble to America. When we're in America, you can't wait to get back to Europe. Despite the fact that there's a war going. I still don’t understand why Mother ever let you come back to England in the first place.”

“Because she _ cared _ that I was miserable, right there in Greendale, unlike you or Edward.”

Zelda set down her teacup a little too soundly. “So you run from place to place, throwing yourself into the mortal world?” She stood, crossing to the window to raise the shade.

“Don’t do that!”

“Nonsense! What is a silly mortal black-out to us? We can turn on every light in the place, blare Benny Goodman at full volume, and the Luftwaffe would be none the wiser.”

Hilda hurried to her side, shutting the shade angrily. “I _ prefer _ it shut.”

“You want to be part of the mortal world, so long as you don’t have to look at it, is that right?” She opened the shade again, forcing Hilda to look through the window at the deserted street below. In the moonlight, the dirty alley behind her building haunted and echoed soundlessly. “But how could you miss such a _ glorious _ view?”

“You can be a right bitch, Zelda,” Hilda said through clenched teeth.

“_ One _ of us has to be practical, and you forfeited that role decades ago. Honestly, parading around in this silly costume. It’s as bad as when you drove that ambulance in the Great War.”

“I go where I’m needed…”

“You’re _ needed _ at home. With your family. Where you belong.”

“Just _ stop _ it, Zelda. Stop it.” Hilda pulled away hard, tears threatening against her eyes. She was halfway to the kitchen when her knees gave out and she collapsed to the floor.

“Hilda!” Zelda rushed to her, dropping to her knees to pull her sister into a worried embrace. “Satan’s name, Hilda, you're shaking. When did you last eat a proper meal? When did you last get a decent night’s sleep?”

“I’m _ fine _,” Hilda insisted.

“Not a bit of veg or meat in the cupboard…”

“I stopped eating meat years ago, you know that…”

“Unnatural,” Zelda muttered. “Even so, you’ve been giving away your rations, haven’t you?” Hilda sighed, but did not deny it. “You’re rail thin, Hilda. You look like you haven’t slept in months, and your clothes fall on you like rags.”

“I’m _ fine _,” Hilda insisted.

“When will you learn, my love, that you cannot save these mortals? No matter where you go, all you will find is war and prejudice and destruction. Come _ home _, Hilda. Come home where you belong.”

Hilda did not answer but allowed Zelda to embrace and rock her gently. It felt too good to protest, to remind her sister that she was no longer a child who needed to be scolded or guided. At this moment, all she wanted was this, the comfort of gentle arms and warm breath against her skin and sweet kisses in her hair.

“I used to feel _ them _, you know. The Thirteen.” she whispered into the fabric of Zelda’s jacket. “I know you never believed me, but I could hear them screaming in the woods.” Her mind filled involuntarily with images of witches, thirteen in all, dangling from trees. She could hear the screams and the begging for mercy, smell the torches burning, her pulse racing in time with the crowds who yelled for murder and cruelty. “I felt it. You never believed me.”

“Of course I believed you,” Zelda whispered. “You’ve been running from those ghosts since you were a tiny child.” 

“Then why would you want me to go back there?”

“Why would you come _ here _ ?” Zelda countered. “With your particular gifts, Sister, a war zone is the last place you should be. Yet here you are, driving ambulances in the last war, volunteering in a hospital in this one, surrounding yourself with mortal fear and grief like the worst sort of masochist. You _ still _ haven’t even mastered an effective shielding spell.”

“I go where I’m needed.” The lie hung between them, sour in the air. They both knew why Hilda preferred the emotions of mortals. In their pain, she was blameless. She was guiltless. But Hilda, more than others of her kind, seemed to bear the guilt of the Church of Night more uncomfortably.

“You cannot deny who we are, Hilda. Who _ you _ are.” 

“I’m not denying anything,” she began as the magic began to encompass her. She realized too late to stop Zelda from casting the shielding spell. Before she could protest, remind her sister that _ she _ decided when and how she would shield her empathy, she was wrapped in the warmest, safest, cocoon of magic. Despite herself, she inched into the silence, the blissful quiet, provided by the spell. It had been so long, and people had been _ so _ frightened…

The tears were falling before she even realized it. And as soon as the first drop fell, the dam burst and Hilda was sobbing in her sister’s arms. They sat there on the floor, rocking together, children again, huddling together against monsters both real and imagined. 

“It’s so stupid,” Hilda gasped. “I was fine. I was great. I could handle it. Then last week…” She sniffed loudly. “I was coming home from the hospital, and I heard this sound in the alley. Don’t know what I was expecting when I…” Her voice broke, the tears coming so hard it took a few moments before she could speak again. “She had been hiding her pups in the alley, and a piece of metal went right through her. Probably during an air raid, I dunno. And her pups, tiny little things, were just mewling and pawing at her, trying to get fed. I could fit all three of them in my coat pocket, with room left for a hankie.”

Zelda hugged her tighter, fiercely. “Sweetheart.”

“All the bodies I’ve seen, mustard gas survivors, burn victims. I thought I was strong. I thought I…” Her breath caught in her throat. “I took the pups home, tried my best, fed them with an eyedropper, but I...I just..I couldn’t...” She dissolved into tears again. 

“Come home,” Zelda begged. “This world is not for you.”

“I’m so tired,” Hilda sighed.

“I know, baby. I know.”

** [ Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water (1970) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_a46WJ1viA) **

She had finally gotten the last of the dirt from under her fingernails. It was funny how she never seemed to mind dirt on her hands from gardening, but Cain pit dirt? Hilda shuddered. She’d forgotten how much she hated the feel of it.

Edward was gone today, off doing whatever Church business filled his days and nights, usually with Zelda at his side currying favor and playing politics. Hilda rolled her eyes as she set the kettle on. Small breakfast today, as Ambrose was still on his ridiculous “I’m not eating like a normal person until they commute this infernal sentence” kick. Hilda could have told him from personal experience that the Church of Night offered nothing but life sentences once they got their claws into you. The best you could hope for was death or excommunication.

“Sour mood this morning, Sister?” Zelda strolled in, looking every inch the church matron. She wore a smug, self-satisfied non-smile as she sat at the table, unfolding her copy of _ La Monde _. 

“You know _ very well _ what kind of mood I’m in, Zelda.” And even though the kettle was already on the stove, Hilda lifted and set it down again noisily for effect. `“Shouldn’t you be off at the Academy, playing the respectable coven member?” 

Zelda sniffed, turning the page of her newspaper pointedly. “Edward has business in Boston today with the Bishop. I thought I’d stay home and take care of personal correspondence.” The paper folded halfway to reveal Zelda’s scowl and upward glance. “_ Must _ he play that infernal music so loudly?”

Hilda hid her pleasure at Zelda’s annoyance. One trip to the Cain pit in a week was more than anyone needed. “I happen to like Simon & Garfunkel.”

“Insipid, sentimental, mortal drivel.”

“Says the woman who played 'Sleepy Time Gal' so much back in the 20s that the record broke…”

“That was _ you _, Sister.” Zelda snapped the paper up, but said no more about Ambrose’s music. 

Hilda counted to ten, then back down to one again, then cursed her refusal to pay more attention to maths in school. There weren’t sufficient numbers to keep her tongue obedient in moments like this. “You _ know _ I hate the Cain pit,” she blurted out.

“Well perhaps if you didn’t provoke me….”

“You _ killed me _ and buried me in the backyard!”

“Oh, stop being dramatic, Hildegard. It’s not like you _ stayed _ dead. And maybe the next time you feel inclined to participate in some ridiculous protest--”

“Against an illegal and brutal war we have no business in--”

“...you’ll remember this moment and stay out of mortal politics.” Zelda folded the paper, all in now. “You know how you get when you let yourself get personally involved in the affairs of these people.”

“I assured you I was fully shielded, and it doesn’t just affect _ them _. I don’t know if you noticed it, but what the mortals do affects the witching world. We can’t just hide in our covens and pretend they don’t exist.”

“Unholy Satan, do _ not _ attempt a political debate with me, Hilda,” Zelda said coolly. “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You’ve become a complete prig. A self-satisfied, unholier-than-thou, affected..._ church lady _.” Hilda slammed the plate of food she’d prepared for her in front of Zelda. 

“And you _ still _ have not accepted your place in this world. Honestly, it’s as if you purposely want to derail Edward’s ambitions in the Church.”

“I do _ everything _ I’m told to do. I attend services, I praise Satan until I’m blue in the face…”

“But you don’t engage in _ social _ events,” Zelda explained, as if they both didn’t know what she was hinting at. “You are more content dealing with the grieving and bereaved than celebrating our faith with your fellow coven members.”

“If by ‘celebrating our faith’ you mean half-arsed local orgies with the likes of Faustus Blackwood and Shirley Jackson, you’re right. I’ll just help Ambrose out in the embalming room, thank you very much.”

“Actually, Shirley Jackson in an orgy is quite reminiscent of an embalming room, if you must know the truth.” Despite herself, Hilda laughed. Zelda’s small smile as she brought her cigarette to her lips brightened the moment considerably. “But you never were one for such things, were you, sister?”

Hilda stiffened, but turned to retrieve her own breakfast without comment. The kettle whistled and she poured two cups as well, setting one in front of her sister before she began her own breakfast. 

Zelda took a bite of toast. “You know, Hilda, I’ve never understood why you avoided orgies so much. It’s not like you aren’t attractive.”

“Can we _ not _ have this conversation while I’m trying to have breakfast?”

“I mean, I can only _ assume _ you consummated the relationships you had with those cross-dressing mortals you so admired in the last century…”

“Not listening to you…”

“At least if you attended…” Zelda hesitated, a small smile escaping her as she eased back on her teasing tone. “At least if you attended, Hilda, someone there would possess a sense of humor.”

Hilda’s eyes shot up, surprised. She smiled in spite of herself. “You’re as bored here as I am, aren’t you, Zelds?”

Zelda took another sip of tea, eyebrows raised in what might be interpreted as a conspiratorial gesture. “Nonsense, Sister. Greendale is a fine witching community. And with Edward ascending so quickly in the Church of Night, our family is enjoying a prominence we could hardly have expected--”

“What with a criminal and a mortal-loving git weighing down your ambitions?”

“You have much to offer the Church, Hilda, if you’d only apply yourself.” Zelda’s gaze was equally encouraging and scolding. “You could sing in the choir. You have a lovely voice. Or you could accompany. I heard you on the piano just the other day. Mother would be so happy all those lessons she forced on you weren’t in vain.”

Hilda laughed, snorting slightly. “Poor Mother. At least she had one proper daughter to be proud of.”

“Mother adored you, Hilda. She just worried. We _ all _ worry about you.” Zelda stood, moving her chair so it was just next to her sister. She took Hilda’s hand gently in her own, eyes earnest and concerned. “You need... _ something _, Hilda. Some project to pour all that love into. If you won’t marry, if you won’t find a suitable lover in the coven, you need an outlet. You can’t hold it all in forever.”

“I am not holding anything in. I just...don’t want the same things you want.”

Zelda leaned forward, kissing her gently on the lips. “We both want the same things, we just want them differently, I think.”

Hilda leaned her forehead against Zelda’s, heart-heavy and tired. “Life is so complicated, isn’t it?”

“Horribly.”

She smiled up at Zelda. It was _ such _ a beautiful face, one she’d admired since before she could remember. She had a burning memory of reaching up tiny fingers to Zelda’s face and saying the word, _ Pretty _! “Well, at least you can rest assured Edward will never do anything to embarrass the family,” she quipped.

“Satan forbid!”

“Promise me you’ll never put me in the pit again?” Hilda asked, knowing that was an impossible request. She and Zelda would continue like this, tugging and pulling and scratching and clutching, until one or both of them never returned from the grave. “Promise?”

Zelda smiled gently, placing a soft kiss on Hilda’s forehead. “I promise.”

The End


End file.
